


The Feng Shui of One Night Stands

by teacuphuman



Series: 2016 Inception Kink Bingo [10]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Drunk Sex, First Time, Intoxication, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur’s drunk. He knows he’s drunk because he’s seriously contemplating crossing the room and talking to Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Feng Shui of One Night Stands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Intoxication/Altered States square on my Inception Bingo card.

Arthur’s drunk. He knows he’s drunk because he’s seriously contemplating crossing the room and talking to Eames. Mal’s at his elbow, egging him on while Dom sips his beer in silence, trying to pretend he’s not with them.

 

“Come on, Arthur,” Mal says, jabbing him in the arm with her finger. “This is the night for last chances. If not now, when?”

 

“It’s a party, Mal, not the end of the world.” Arthur frowns across the room at the object of his affections. 

 

“Semantics,” Mal dismisses, her wine nearly spilling out of her obnoxiously large glass when she waves her hand. “Do it.”

 

Arthur redirects Mal’s hand away from his shirt and gestures toward Eames. “Look, he’s leaving. Guess I missed my shot.”

 

Arthur yelps when Mal tosses the remaining contents of her glass in his face. Several people turn in their direction and Arthur glowers as the red wine stains his shirt.

 

“What the fuck, Mal?” 

 

“Come with me, cheri.” Mal leads him away, her hand wrapped around his bicep, sharp red nails digging into his skin.

 

Arthur removes his glasses and tries to find a dry patch of shirt to clean them on, muttering under his breath. 

 

“Eames!” Mal says, and Arthur freezes, looking up. “Peux tu me faire une faveur?”

 

Eames turns from the door he’s closing, tucking keys into the front pocket of his jeans. “Anything for you, love.” He grins around the unlit cigarette between his lips. 

 

Arthur’s mouth goes dry and he forgets about his glasses, forgets about being covered in red wine. All he can think about is the way Eames’ mouth looks wrapped around the filter of that cigarette.

 

“Sure thing,” Eames says and ushers Arthur through the door, closing it behind them. “I’m sure I have something that’ll fit you.”

 

“Huh?” Arthur says, putting his glasses back on.  _ Jesus, _ Arthur thinks,  _ this is Eames’ room. I’m in Eames’ room. With Eames. What the actual fuck? _

 

“Take that off, you’re dripping on the carpet.” Eames tells him, rummaging through a set of drawers.

 

Arthur looks down at his shirt and sees that yes, he is indeed dripping red wine onto Eames’ grey carpet. He’s going to kill Mal. He strips off his shirt, stumbling a little when he forgets that his glasses are still on and the shirt gets stuck.

 

“Whoa, there.” Eames laughs, steadying Arthur and helping him peel the shirt of his tacky arms. 

 

Eames hands are callused, but warm, and Arthur wants them everywhere. Eames open the window and tosses Arthur’s shirt out, laughing at Arthur’s squawk of protest. He lights the cigarette, leaning down to blow the smoke out the window.

 

“It was ruined anyway, no use hanging on to it,” Eames sucks on the cigarette, casting an appreciative eye over Arthur’s naked torso, letting the smoke curl between them when he speaks. “I much prefer you like this if we’re being honest.”

 

Arthur frowns, noticing Eames’ slow, exaggerated movements and he taps ash onto the window ledge. “Are you drunk?”

 

Eames grins. “I’m afraid so, darling. Is that a problem?”

 

Arthur cocks his head, considering. “Nooo, it’s possibly an advantage.”

 

“Why’s that?” Eames asks, taking another drag.

 

“Because then maybe neither of us will remember this in the morning.” Arthur launches himself at Eames, missing his mouth entirely, and smearing his lips across the other man’s cheek.

 

Eames is laughing, clutching Arthur by the elbows to keep him from sliding to the ground, and Arthur just wants the world to open up and swallow him whole. There are tears in Eames’ eyes when Arthur dares to look up, and he shoves away, tripping over a book and nearly ending up sprawled across the floor. 

 

Eames beats him to the door, blocking it with his body.

 

“Fuck off.” Arthur says, arms crossed over his chest, embarrassment burning in his cheeks. He really doesn’t want to go out there without his shirt, but even that sounds better than staying in here to be laughed at.

 

“Darling, no, please stay,” Eames is failing miserably at keeping a smile off his face. “I didn’t mean to laugh, you just took me by surprise.”

 

Arthur looks away, regretting coming out tonight.

 

“It’s Arthur, yeah? You’re in my philosophy class. Sit at the front with those lovely long legs stretched out in front of you,” Eames runs his hand up Arthur’s arm, cigarette still pinched between two fingers. “You argue a lot with the prof.”

 

“Isn’t that kind of the point of a philosophy class?” Arthur asks, shivering when Eames’ hand reaches his neck.

 

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘discourse’.” Eames grins, flicking Arthur’s earlobe lightly.

 

“Shut up.” Arthur says, much softer than he intended.

 

“Sure thing.” Eames pulls Arthur in by the back of the neck and kisses him.

 

He tastes like smoke and Jack Daniels, and Arthur isn’t a fan of either, but Eames may be the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth. Arthur leans into it, arms coming up to brace on either side of Eames’ wide shoulders.

 

“Shit, hold on a sec,” Eames pulls away and stubs the cigarette out on the door frame, dropping the butt into a glass on the shelf. He grabs Arthur by the hips, dragging him across the room. He falls into the desk chair and settles Arthur in his lap. “That’s better.”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur breathes, attacking Eames’ neck with his mouth. Eames fists one hand in Arthur’s hair, the other kneading the curve of Arthur’s ass. Arthur only stops to take off his glasses when the bump against Eames’ nose, biting at the man’s lips and making him groan.

 

Arthur doesn’t notice at first, when Eames starts rocking against him. Every inch of him is one fire and he’s too far gone to question if this is a good idea. Stubble scratches across his chest and Arthur bucks harder, gasping at the friction and reaching past Eames’ shoulders to use the chair back as leverage.

 

Eames’ hands are fumbling between them and Arthur can’t spare the brain cells to figure out what he’s doing because Eames still has his keys in his pocket, and the way they’re biting into the back of Arthur’s thigh is sparking about as much pleasure grinding down on Eames is.

 

“Finally.” Eames groans, and  _ oh _ , that’s what he was up to. He’s got both their dicks in his big hand and he’s tugging firmly, rubbing them together.

 

“Oh. My. God.” Arthur gasps, throwing his head back.

 

Eames laughs and presses his hand to the small of Arthur’s back, guiding him into a rhythm.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eames whispers, his voice gone tight. “God, I can’t believe-”

 

Arthur’s head falls forward to watch Eames come, spurting over his hand and coating them both. Eames grits his teeth, tightening his grip more than Arthur usually likes, but it’s worth it to see Eames’ eyes go wide, staring into Arthur’s. As soon as he’s done, Eames readjusts his hand on Arthur, spreading his come to easy the way. He pulls at Arthur, slow and steady until Arthur’s nails are digging into Eames’ shoulders and he’s begging to come.

 

“Let me see you.” Eames says, speeding up. Arthur closes his eyes and arches his back into the touch, biting his bottom lip to keep from shouting as his vision goes white and his world explodes.

 

Arthur’s head lolls against Eames’ shoulder while Eames stretches to reach the pack of wet wipes in the desk drawer. As Eames wipes them down, Arthur starts to giggle.

 

“What?” Eames asks, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“You have wipes in your desk drawer. This is your jerk off chair.” Arthur giggles until he’s shaking, putting his hands to Eames’ chest to feel the vibrations as he laughs along.

 

“I like to keep the feng shui flowing in this room. Wouldn’t have made sense to do it against the door. I’d be messed up for days.” Eames grins, tossing the dirty wipes in the garbage and tucking himself back into his pants.

 

“Hmm, makes sense,” Arthur says, feeling silly and languid, but following suit. “What’s the bed for then?”

 

“Oh, that?” Eames says, spinning the chair around slowly to face the mattress in the corner. “That’s for round two in the morning.”

 

He sucks Arthur bottom lip into his mouth, grazing it lightly with his teeth before letting it slip out.

 

“What about the party?” Arthur asks.

 

Eames grins, readjusting his grip on Arthur’s ass. “What party?”

 

In the morning, there is indeed round two. Right before Eames cooks him breakfast.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
